Back to You
by swc18
Summary: Sara’s perspective, starting at beginning of S4
1. One

The top step in the warehouse was cold and uncomfortable, yet it had quickly become Sara's favorite place in the few hours they'd been there. She could see everything; the ceilings were high, and the wall was covered in windows, offering a view of the water that actually wasn't bad. There were worse places to hide from the law.

The whole place just felt open, airy, and brighter than what she'd gotten used to.

All of her time spent at Fox River had been much more compact. The modest infirmary lacked much personal space, but she couldn't ever bring herself to complain; her patients spent most of their time in even smaller spaces.

But those days were long gone. She was no longer "Dr. Tancredi", she was just Sara. A woman on the run, eluding the authorities once again…a habit she really wished they could all break and get back to normal. She scoffed internally at the notion. Normalcy felt like a pipe-dream.

She shifted her weight a bit and rested with her elbows on her knees, twirling the ring on her finger as she watched everything going on below.

Mahone, Bellick and Sucre all sat around the table. Papers were strewn across its surface, only interrupted by the occasional cup of coffee. Mahone was peering down at a laptop, his fingers speeding across the keys as Michael stood behind him looking over his shoulder, both of them deep in thought about whatever plan they were working on.

She spaced out a bit as she watched Michael in his element. She smiled at the small furrow between his eyes, the way he held his hand to his chin when deep in thought and the almost inconspicuous movement of his lips as he processed information, as if speaking silently to himself.

She wondered what it would be like to get even a glimpse inside his mind. Then again it was probably a dizzying assault of information, so better not.

What she really wondered was what occupied his mind _aside_ from Scylla. What he thought about in his rare moments of down time. And with that question, a realization hit her with full force.

She missed him.

He was standing right there and yet it was as if they existed in different dimensions. Unreachable. He was the group leader; he was the brilliant mind that was going to figure all of this out. And she missed him; missed their time alone together in the infirmary.

_Isn't_ _that something_. She thought. Here they both were, not in prison, and she was reminiscing about the good old days at Fox River. She rolled her eyes at herself, realizing how ridiculous it all was. Those damn insulin shots were the only real alone time they'd had…and she wanted that to change.

Of course, everyone in the group knew they were together, but the mission required significant downplaying of their relationship. No one said a word or subjected them to merciless teasing, which she was grateful for, but she longed for time to talk to him. Not about Scylla, not about a plan, or outsmarting whatever mangled scenario The Company had in store for them. She wanted to get to know him, but there hadn't been time for that yet.

Since leaving Fox River their life had been a hurried combination of hiding, being on the run, and on her end, being captured and tortured. The thought of that dank shed in Panama…the metallic smell of blood…her back stinging…the echo of gunshot…

She could feel bile rising in her throat as her mind tormented her with memories.

She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, clenching her fists to stop her hands from shaking. Some moments were fine…and then out of nowhere it all became too much. The flashbacks came without warning or remorse, leaving her anxious, angry, and frustrated…all swirling together at once like water going down a drain…but she didn't have a drain. No outlet for any of it.

_Just breathe, deep breaths. _She told herself.

After a moment or several she unclenched her eyes, willing herself back to the present moment with another shaky exhale.

Her eyes wandered and landed solely on Michael down below; he was sitting now, clicking the pen in his hand as his eyes scanned numerous papers in front of him. It was hard to believe it was only yesterday that Michael knew her to be alive. She could only imagine how strange had been for him to see her.

As far as he'd known, she'd been dead for months; walking into that room with Bruce and seeing her standing there must have been like seeing a ghost.

She remembered feeling oddly nervous waiting for him; would he be happy to see her? She knew now how silly that question was, but her self-effacing nature had taken the lead in that moment. To assume that he'd be over the moon to see her would be setting herself up for disappointment. For rejection. She'd experienced enough of that in her life to know how to protect herself, never letting her hopes get too high.

But the expression on his face when he saw her took away all her worries. In fact, her relief was a mirror image to his own; she saw his chest cave as he exhaled her name, the wave of relief flooding through his entire body.

_He's been blaming himself this whole time. _She'd thought as her heart sank.

She'd felt herself move towards him, pulled by an invisible force into his embrace, melting into the warmth and comfort; the perfect fit of her cheek against his shoulder. She loved the way he always cradled her head against him; it made her feel safe. And if there was any time she needed that feeling, it was now.

The memories were still too fresh. The nightmares unrelenting.

She wanted to go down to the table where he was, but she could tell he was deep in thought. He'd have to get some sleep eventually…she'd just have to be patient; wait for him to wear himself out and willingly head to bed.

The thought of which caused butterflies to flutter in her stomach as she remembered what had happened earlier that day, when they'd first arrived at the warehouse.

_"Why don't you uh, put your bag over there, on the boat." _He'd gestured towards the vessel.

_"Ok," _she'd shrugged and obliged, leaving her single bag on deck.

After hopping off the boat, she walked over to the table to join the others. When she glanced over, she saw him climbing onto the vessel, setting his bag down as well.

She shouldn't have been surprised; they _were_ together, but her mind had immediately gone to the fact the boat has only one bed. Even thinking about it now caused color to rise in her cheeks, stirring quite a few feelings and accompanying thoughts that she didn't dare entertain, denying her mind the chance to run rampant with that idea.

She felt silly at her own embarrassment. She was a grown woman for God's sake, why be embarrassed about it? Maybe because it was all so new. Their relationship had been fast and intense, but seriously lacking on the physical side of things.

A flash of movement in her periphery caused her to gasp. She startled, practically falling off the step before regaining her composure. Lincoln paused on the step in front of her and looked back.

"You ok?" he asked.

"Yea, yea I'm fine sorry," she ran a hand through her hair, "I didn't hear you coming," she managed to get out as her heart thudded loudly in her chest.

Lincoln nodded and continued down the stairs.

She willed her heart to slow down again, could feel her cheeks burning. She'd been so jumpy ever since... "_nope, don't even go there" _she told herself. Focus on something else.

Her eyes were resting on Michael when he looked up from the table below and made eye contact with her, a small smile appearing on his face. She smiled back and quickly looked down at her feet; she'd been caught in a full-blown "I'm spaced out but totally staring at you" moment.

She hadn't noticed that the sun had almost completely disappeared into the horizon, a soft orange and pink glow not quite giving way to the night. It had gotten later than she'd realized.

She paused before sneaking a glance back at him and saw him inching away from Mahone, finishing up whatever conversation they'd been having and making his way towards the stairs.

She watched as Mahone took his glasses off and set them on the table, rubbing his eyes and then his eyebrows with the heel of his hand. They both had to be exhausted.

Come to think of it, she hadn't really slept in two days and neither had Michael, aside from dozing off here and there on the flight over. Their previous "night" at the motel had ended up lasting only a few hours; not even getting the chance to eat their take-out before someone was once again after them, and they were on the run.

That realization entering her mind provided validation and allowed a nearly overwhelming sensation of numbness and fatigue to wash over her. Her body felt so heavy on the step, she might as well have melted into it.

Michael leapt up the stairs until he reached her and swiftly sat down next to her, the medium blue of his shirt somehow highlighting the cool blue of his eyes even more.

"Hey" he started, in his usual quiet tone.

"Hey," she said casually as she continued twirling the ring on her index finger, "Solve all the world's problems yet?"

"Not quite but uh, we should be able to track down the card holder tomorrow." he spoke softly.

"Already?" She was surprised they'd figured it out so fast but knew she shouldn't be.

"Yea I think so. If it all goes according to plan."

"You know what they say about making plans." She raised an eyebrow at him with a playful smirk.

"If there was any chance that God isn't _already _laughing at me I'd be worried." He said it with a chuckle, but they both knew how painfully true that statement was.

Nothing had gone according to plan. She wasn't naïve enough to think it would now.

"You should get some sleep."

"So should you," he retorted with a suggestive smirk.

She couldn't help but smile, "Come on, let's go."

They stood up and she lightly put a hand on his back, guiding him down the stairs and over to the boat they would call home.

XXXX

The boat wasn't very big and being as tall as they were, they both had to crouch down quite a bit to get inside, but it'll do. She couldn't complain considering they had the best place in the warehouse to call their own; everyone else had cots on the upper level.

Michael paused inside the doorway and put his hands on his hips, taking in their temporary home. Sara stood behind him and looked around at the bare interior. The air was stale and smelled of old wood. There wasn't much to see aside from white walls and dark trim.

He sighed, "Not exactly how I pictured our first night together."

She couldn't help but smile. Maybe it was the fatigue and jet lag getting to her but suddenly their current situation was hilarious. How long had they dreamt of this? Being together and at least somewhat free? Yet here they were, in a warehouse, on an obviously neglected boat, with five other guys not too far away…one of whom was already snoring loudly. She couldn't stifle it anymore and started giggling.

Michael looked at her with a confused seriousness that only made her laugh harder.

"What?" he asked.

Knowing Michael, he'd probably planned their first date all out in his head. A fancy restaurant, his hand on the small of her back guiding her to their table, the soft candlelight glow…

The stark contrast to their current situation had Michael concerned and Sara greatly amused.

"What?" he asked again, but with a nervous chuckle this time.

"I'm sorry I just," she took a deep breath to compose herself; calming down from her fit of laughter.

"It's perfect." She said with sincerity and a smile.

She was here with him; someone who cared for her enough to be visibly upset that he hadn't been able to treat her to his idea of a "perfect" first date. The notion of which seemed silly and completely unnecessary; he was a good man and they cared about each other. That was more than enough.

"Really?" he still didn't seem convinced, "I just wish I could do something spec-"

"-Michael," she interrupted, moving in front of him now, meeting his gaze.

"I love it." She snaked her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder, listening to his breathing, a sense of calm coming over her.

"I love _you." _He replied.

She smiled and let out another small chuckle.

"Why is that funny?" he asked.

She looked up at him, "You're not just saying that because you don't have to take me out to dinner, right?"

He didn't hesitate, "Oh, I'm still taking you to dinner. Fanciest restaurant we can find, as soon as all this is over."

She raised an eyebrow, "I'm holding to you that."

"You better."

They stood in silence for a while; she rested her head against him once again, letting her eyes close. She felt herself getting really sleepy, but didn't want to move.

"Sara?" he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Let's go to bed," he started to unwrap his arms from around her, "here I'll get your bag from the deck and bring it in…I'm guessing you don't want to sleep in jeans."

"You would be correct." She replied, sleepily running a hand through her hair.

"I'll be right back," he whispered, and she nodded.

She took off her shoes and pulled the covers back on the bed, sitting on the edge. She wanted nothing more than to flop backwards, but knew if she did she'd never get up to change her clothes.

Michael returned with both bags in hand, putting hers down on the edge of the bed.

"Thanks," she opened it immediately and started digging around for something comfy, finding a pair of shorts and a soft t-shirt.

"Do you want me to-?" he motioned to the other side of the boat, wondering if she needed privacy.

As sweet and endearing as the offer was, she couldn't accept it. She wanted them to be comfortable around each other.

She shook her head, "Stay."

"Ok," he whispered as he started rummaging through his bag as well.

She peeled off her jeans, trying to remember how long she'd been wearing them. A gross amount of time. Days? Wearing them on an airplane was enough for them to need a wash as far as she was concerned. They'd have to figure out the laundry situation at the warehouse.

A shower would have been a good idea, but she was so tired. There'd be time for that in the morning. She assumed she'd be at the warehouse the next day waiting around.

She pulled on her shorts and slipped her shirt over her head. Her back was still to Michael who was now sitting on the bed in boxers and an old shirt, resting his back against the wall.

He saw the scars on her back. He'd seen them the night before, traced his fingers over them so lightly she'd barely felt it.

He sighed loudly, almost a sound of despair.

She turned her head around to look at him, saw the pity in his eyes. The guilt.

He lowered his head.

"Michael," she started, already searching for the words to assuage his guilt.

"I'm sorry, Sara…I'm just…I'm so sorry."

"I know," she moved over to him, making the daring decision to straddle him without warning, forcing him to look her directly in the eyes, "this is _not _your fault…you know that right?"

"None of this would have happened if I-"

"-I made choices too, Michael. And what happened with Gretchen…everything in Panama it's not…" she sighed, "it's over. It's done. I'd really like to just move past it, to…forget it."

"If there's any way I can help?" he asked quietly, his eyes pleading.

She reached down slowly and grabbed his hands, moving them around her so they rested on her back.

Her gaze lowered as she spoke quietly, "I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to jump at every little noise or…or flinch every time someone touches me. I just…"

He understood and started running his hands up and down her back, so gently.

"Do they hurt?" he asked.

Any contact besides clothing on her back still caused some anxiety. She forced a deep breath, closing her eyes.

"No," she managed, "no they don't hurt," she took another deep breath through her nose, exhaling shakily, trying with every ounce of her being to stay calm, to shut out the flashbacks.

"Hey," he said gently, letting one arm rest around her hips, the other coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face, "I'm right here. You're _here..._we'll get through this."

She nodded silently, offering a weak smile. After a few more steadying breaths, she opened her eyes and saw the corner of his mouth turn up slightly.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing it's just…it's a little distracting having you sitting like that."

She raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Really? I didn't think anything could distract _you_."

"That's where you're wrong," he pointed a finger at her playfully, "It took a lot of willpower to not abandon the table down there and join you on the steps a lot earlier."

"Is that so?"  
"Mhmm," he nodded, "but I have a job to do…I can't let everyone down."

She could see the weight he was carrying. Everyone here depended on him for their freedom…and that's a heavy burden.

She grabbed his hand and held it between hers, "Do you think it'll work? The…the plan for tomorrow?" Her eyes searched his, wondering what was in store for them the next day.

"Only one way to find out I guess," he sounded tired, deflated.

She nodded, not wanting to push it any further, "Why don't we get some rest."

He didn't respond and she saw the furrow reappearing between his brows, staring at the wall, obviously contemplating something.

"Hey," she started, his eyes snapping back to her.

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his. His hands came up to frame her face, holding her to him and kissing her slowly, torturingly. She let out a soft moan as she broke off the kiss to rest her forehead against his, knowing neither one of them would get any sleep if they continued.

"I love you," she whispered before leaning back, "now get some sleep, doctor's orders." She demanded, giving him a stern look.

His eyes widened, "Yes ma'am," he joked, holding his hands up in surrender.

She laughed and rolled off him and onto her back, sinking into the comfortable bed. She let out a deep sigh as he slouched down and under the covers.

She repositioned herself, bringing her head to rest on his chest, snuggling into his side. His arm came around her slowly, not wanting the contact to startle her as it settled gently against her back. She didn't flinch. Her eyes closed as she felt sleep coming on, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, knowing that in that moment, she was finally safe.


	2. Two

Sara opened her eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the darkness. The boat provided a solid barrier to any sunlight coming into the warehouse. She had no idea what time it was. Next to her, Michael was breathing steadily, still sound asleep. She grabbed her phone from its charger and looked at the time – 7:24am. There was no way she'd be able to fall back asleep anyways, so she decided to get up and see if there was coffee anywhere to be made.

Pulling the covers back slowly, she crept into the corner where her bag was stashed. Using the light from her phone screen, she dug around and pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a light green button up sweater. She always thought Michael would be a light sleeper, the slightest sound or movement awakening his over active mind, but apparently that wasn't the case. At least not today after so many hours of wakefulness and scheming.

She smiled as she watched him for a moment, the easy rise and fall of his chest, his face peaceful. She finished pulling up her jeans and tugged down on her sweater, quietly making her way out of the boat.

She pulled her hair into a pony-tail as she walked, thankful she had a hair tie on her wrist to fasten it.

Mahone was already awake and at the table, and she could smell coffee. As if they could expect us to complete this mission without it.

"Morning," Mahone greeted, looking up at her with his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Morning, where did you?" she gestured towards the steaming mug he had in front of him.

"Over there," he pointed towards the east side of the warehouse, "I made it strong, don't say I didn't warn you."

Sara looked over and saw a cheap folding table with a coffee maker and packets of cream and sugar.

"Wouldn't take it any other way," she replied, finding it funny how people bonded over things like strong coffee.

She filled her mug and wrapped her hands around its warmth, heading back to the table where Lincoln and Sucre had joined Mahone.

"Where's Michael?" Lincoln asked.

"Still asleep," she replied with a sip of her coffee, as Lincoln gave her a confused look. She shrugged, "I didn't want to wake him…if he's not up within the hour I'll go get him."

Lincoln nodded and looked over to Mahone, "What're you working on?"

Mahone looked up from his papers, "The card holder…we don't know his name or much about him at this point, but I did get a good look at his driver."

"How does that help?" Sucre asked.

"Because if we find the driver, we find the cardholder."

Lincoln already sounded annoyed, "So what? You wanna sketch this guy's face and try to find him out of all the people Los Angeles? That's just great."

Sara glanced back at Mahone.

"While all the other drivers were chatting, this guy was standing off to the side, feet apart, hands behind his back…at rest, he's former military."

Sucre leaned forward now and Lincoln didn't give a smart ass remark; Mahone had the groups attention as he continued.

"His car rode lower than the others, weighed down, bulletproof…"

Sara caught a glance of motion coming from the boat. She looked over and saw Michael making his way over, dressed in his blue button down shirt and jeans. She slipped away from the group and walked over to meet him halfway.

"Morning, you sleep ok?" she asked, putting a hand on his upper arm.

"Better than in a long time," he smiled, "is that for me?" his hand reached for her coffee mug and she pulled it away just as fast, shielding it.

"Nice try but no," she said playfully, "why don't you go join the others and I'll grab you a cup."

"Thanks," he said with a smile, making his way over to the guys.

Sara walked back over to the folding table and grabbed another mug, filling it. Did he like cream in his coffee? Sugar? This is the kind of thing she really felt like she should know by now. But how could she? When had they had a relaxing morning at home together...brewing coffee and reading the paper? Never.

Well, he can decide himself, she figured as she grabbed packets of cream and sugar to take with her.

She walked back over and sat the mug and fixings down next to him, but he didn't even seem to notice; he was listening intently to the rest of what Mahone had to say.

After a few minutes he grabbed the mug and took a sip, then dumped in a few creamers in.

Noted. She thought, now she'll know for tomorrow.

After getting the gist of what was going on with the plan, she found herself spacing out, not really being interested in hanging around anymore. She slipped away from the group and out of the warehouse silently, wanting some fresh air and solitude.

The warehouse door clicked shut behind her and she went to the side of the building facing the ocean. It was littered with old crates, pallets, and boating equipment. The air was salty, and slightly fishy...normally not a great smell but for some reason, standing by the ocean, she actually found it kind of pleasant.

She leaned against the side of the building, but the harsh cold of the metal had her startling upright immediately. Her back was still overly sensitive to everything, and a jolt of panic went through her body. Heart racing, pounding in her ears. She moved away from the building a bit and paced, slowly and methodically, watching her feet move one in front of the other, trying to calm herself. Seagulls wandered near her, curious, tilting their heads at her. They didn't bother flying away no matter how close she got.

Twenty years ago, she'd be happily running into a flock of them, entertaining herself by sending them scattering into the sky. But now she just watched them, watching her. Their piercing yet vacant eyes somewhat unnerving and out of nowhere, causing a feeling of loneliness.

Her stomach lurched at the sudden assault of emotion, the ugly smells from Panama coming back. She forced a deep breath, hoping the sea air would calm her but instead, the intake fueled the fire.

Driven by an force she couldn't name, ugly and unfamiliar, she raced to the pallets and started pulling them apart, the buzzing energy of rage filling every muscle. She kept smashing them on the concrete as the images of her torment filled her mind. The blood. The gunshot. The sound of the whip. When will it end?

And as quickly as her fit of anger and pain had come, it was gone, leaving her exhausted. Her arms shook as she panted, her hands came to her face, rubbing her eyes, and covering her mouth that struggled to take a steady inhale. When. Will. It. End.

Is this what people mean by "going off the deep end?" A psychotic break? This wasn't her. Certainly not a "her" she'd ever experienced and she didn't know how to deal with it. Did anybody? What do you do when you're so deeply traumatized, when the slightest thing...a fucking seagull sends you spiraling?

_I need to go back in. Be around people. Something to focus on._

She didn't give herself a chance to argue with that, and without another thought she whipped open the door to the warehouse and rejoined the group, just in time to hear that Roland had a device to help get Scylla. "A digital black hole" as he called it, able to get the information on Scylla as long as they were within ten feet of it.

Michael cast her a glance as she sat down at the table and she did her best to force a smile, pulling down on the sleeves of her sweater. For some reason doing that always made her feel safer, like a kid hiding under the covers.

She was glad that no one had seen whatever had just possessed her outside, something she couldn't explain or defend. She couldn't burden Michael with that too, not now and certainly not since he still blames himself for what happened.

The group continued chattering and a plan started to come together. The cardholder had a maid who took the bus, same time every day. Sara would make casual conversation and drop the device in her bag, and hope the maid would get close enough to Scylla for it to work.

"You ok with that Sara?" Michael asked.

She nodded in agreement. All things considered, that task wasn't very risky.

As Mahone and Michael discussed how to get the device back from the maid afterwards, her eyes roamed the files on the table until one caught her eye, the tab said, "Aldo Burrows".

She remembered hearing Lincoln talk about their father a little; Michael had never said much. All she knew is that he wasn't around during their childhood...definitely something she could relate to. She didn't want to intrude, but she couldn't help her curiosity. Besides, Aldo's involvement with the company was apparently relevant to what they were all trying to do, the file was there in plain sight.

She grabbed it and headed over to the boat.

Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn't eaten since lunch the day before. Hopefully they could order pizza or something later…if that was ok? What if the delivery person recognized them? Being a fugitive was getting really old. It made her feel like she was constantly paranoid…and being a tall red head didn't help at all when it came to blending in to a crowd.

Her fingers flipped through the pages of the file. There were official files-information about Aldo that people like Don Self probably found relevant; but she was more interested in the hand-written notes...less censored, more telling.

There was a piece of lined paper, and scrawled out in cursive were passages she immediately recognized from the Odyssey.

She'd read it growing up; in fact, she'd read lots of Greek mythology, partially because it was expected of her (being the governor's daughter she had to be well read, lest she embarrass her father at high class dinner parties and campaigns). But she genuinely liked them; the stories were brutal and honest. People got hurt, people died, and sacrifices had to be made.

Her eyes scanned over the passage, it was about Scylla. Faint bells went off in the back of her mind, trying to remember the details she'd read long ago. Maybe something about it would help; but if nothing else, it would satisfy her need to make connections…to make what they're going through less obscure.

She heard footsteps and looked up to see Michael climbing onto the boat.

"Doing some light reading?" he asked.

"Something like that."

He sat down across from her, "Anything useful?"

"Well, I was going over some notes from your father…" she held up the paper she'd been staring at, "this passage…it's Homer, it's from the Odyssey."

She met his questioning eyes and continued, "In this chapter, Odysseus is told that he has to pass a six headed monster, Scylla, and it'll require the sacrifice of six of his men. Otherwise he has to abandon his path. And in the end…he makes the sacrifice."

Michael paused before saying softly, "That's a tough choice…one I don't want to make."

She easily read between the lines, "You don't have to, Michael you're not alone in this. Everyone here is choosing to be here. This doesn't all fall on you." She put a hand on top of his.

He looked up, "What does that say, on the back?"

She hadn't realized there was anything on the other side. Flipping it over, she read it and bit her lip before saying out loud, "All that avails is flight."

Michael stared off into the distance, obviously processing this revelation. The words carried a weight in her own mind. The finality of it; a warning from Aldo before he even knew his sons would be involved to this extent.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"What if he's right?"

She sighed and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, "Well…if we run at this point what are our options? I mean, realistically we what? Try to cross the border again? Last time that didn't go so well." She looked down and tried not to shudder, "I think we have to keep going."

He nodded slowly, "Alright…you ready for tomorrow then?"

"Make small talk, be sneaky, I can handle it." She winked at him.

He smiled back and leaned in to give her a kiss before turning to make his way back to the group.

"Hey wait," she started and he turned around, "are we ever gonna eat or-?"

He laughed, "I'll see what we can do, maybe Self can order us something."

"Appreciate it," she replied.

XXXXX

She once again woke up before Michael, but this time decided not to let him sleep. It didn't take more than a small shake and kiss on the shoulder to have him stirring, opening his eyes and squinting at her with endearing confusion.

"Morning," she whispered, "time to get up."

"Do I have to?"

"I'm afraid you do, can't be late today."

He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes before turning a light on and facing her, "You look beautiful."

His voice was so sincere. She looked down at her baggy shirt and ran her hand through what was obviously a bad case of bed-head, "I don't believe you."

"It's true," he reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her face before gently bringing her closer to him, taking her lips in his.

She sighed, letting herself enjoy a rare moment of bliss between the chaos. Her arms wrapped around his neck as his went down to rest on her hips.

A knock on the door startled them both, "Guys we gotta get going," Lincoln said from the outside.

"Be right out," Michael yelled back, before looking at her sheepishly.

"Busted." She teased, sliding off the bed and getting dressed. She pulled on the same jeans from yesterday and a long-sleeved white shirt. She ran her hands through her hair a few more times, surprised that it behaved itself and lay flatter. She grabbed sunglasses just in case, slung her bag over her shoulder, and made her way out to the car.

XXXX

Michael and Lincoln dropped her off a few blocks away from the bus stop. It was sunny and smelled like someone had just cut their lawn; judging by the well manicured gardens of every yard in the neighborhood, someone probably had. She took a deep breath and felt the sun on her face as she walked over, easily spotting her target who was wearing a maid uniform.

She casually took her spot standing next to her and pretended to read a newspaper. The headline was something about the take-down of a drug lord, not exactly the kind of thing she was in the mood to hear about. She clung onto Roland's device with one hand, hiding it under the newspaper until the time was right.

They stood for minutes in silence until the maid started digging in her bag, obviously struggling with the cup of coffee she held in the other.

"Here let me take that," Sara offered, grabbing the coffee.

"Thanks," the maid smiled.

"That's a great bag, where did you get it?"

The maid looked up from rummaging, "Oh, my boss gave it to me so I, I'm not sure…but I love it, so many pockets."

Sara smiled shyly, "Do you mind if I take a look? I'm a teacher so I've got books and grading materials…I can never find a great bag."

"Oh sure!" The maid opened the purse and held it out to her.

Sara's heart was racing, but it helped that the maid seemed really friendly. What surprised her most about the whole thing was how easy lying had become; apparently she was a teacher now. Huh.

She slipped the device into the bag before handing it back to the maid, offering another smile.

The bus arrived and they all got on. Sara took a seat close to the front, letting out a deep breath and looking out the window. In a few stops she'd get off and Sucre would be there to pick her up and go back to the warehouse.

Michael and Lincoln would be outside the cardholder's house, waiting to make sure everything went according to plan.

Everyone played their part and Sara had to admit, it was impressively orchestrated. They'd pulled off the impossible so many times it was almost laughable.

Sure, Michael's mind was one of their best assets but the team was a force to be reckoned with. So diverse. So much history between them all, both good and bad. Despite the fact that most of them were convicted criminals, it dawned on her just how oddly safe she felt being part of this team. She trusted these guys with her life. Every day they were risking it all, and they counted on each other. It was a lot of things: thrilling, terrifying, challenging…she just hoped every day that they'd all come back in one piece.

She stepped down off the bus and saw Sucre, he waved and smiled from the driver's seat of a little black car and she nodded, signaling that she saw him. She had to admit she had a soft spot for him too, dimples and a kind heart went a long way.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Good, I'm just hoping it goes well for Michael and Linc too."

"They'll be fine, those two can work their way out of anything," he said with a wave of his hand.

She smiled, "That they can."

XXXXX

Sara was sitting by Michael at the table, her hand resting on his knee. Linc and Sucre were next to them making easy conversation, snacking on some pretzels Self had brought them.

They'd been able to copy the information on Scylla, but needed Roland's device back from the maid's bag.

Mahone and Bellick has been assigned that task and it was taking longer than expected. Sara could tell Michael was getting nervous, his knee had been bouncing up and down...she'd rested her hand there in a silent act of reassurance.

Bellick and Mahone burst into the warehouse, out of breath and obviously frustrated.

"What happened? Did you get the device back?" Michael demanded.

"It wasn't in the bag," Mahone let out, "she must have lost it or-"

"Or found it and realized it wasn't hers," Michael finished, "she probably thought it belonged to her boss and left it in the house." He brought a hand up and pinched between his eyebrows.

Lincoln leaned back in his chair, "That's why she went back in. Remember? She left the house and then turned around and went in for a few seconds."

"So it's probably close to the door then," Sara offered, "entryway table or something."

"Yea she was in there fifteen seconds, tops," Lincoln confirmed.

The group launched into a discussion of how to get it back, something that was of course dangerous and complicated. Hours later she realized it was getting dark. She caught herself yawning as Bellick and Roland snuck back to the upper level, calling it a night. Roland was pissed that his device was gone, like that was the worst of their problems. If someone found it…that's when they'd really be in trouble.

Michael was at the white board and Sara approached him, putting a hand on his back, "I think I'm gonna go get some sleep."

"Ok," he nodded, eyes not leaving the board.

"Don't work too hard alright? No staying up all night." She ordered.

"I promise."

"Good man," she patted him on the back before walking over to the boat.

She took off her shoes and went over to the bed, flopping down on her back and looking up at the ceiling. Her mind went blank, in the way minds do when they've been assaulted with too much information for too many hours.

She felt her eyes start to close but didn't have the energy to fight it and fell asleep.

What felt like minutes later she jolted awake, heart pounding, sweat all down her back and on her chest. She was still fully clothed and lying on top of the covers. What time was it? Her mind was foggy, and disturbed, as if she'd had a horrible dream but couldn't remember what.

She dug her phone out of her pocket, it was 2am, and Michael still hadn't come back.

She sat up slowly and made her way to the door, fanning herself with her shirt. She peered out into the warehouse and saw Michael alone at the table, clicking his pen and looking down at an array of pages.

Everyone else was asleep and she didn't want to cause a ruckus, but she didn't want to sneak up on Michael either.

She walked barefoot towards him, and he looked up when she was about ten feet away.

"I thought you said you wouldn't be up all night," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"How late is it?" he asked genuinely.

"It's two in the morning," she said with a chuckle.

"Oh," he gave sigh, "I didn't realize…"

"It's ok," she smiled, "but you shouldn't be tormenting yourself all night, come on," she went around the table to him as he stood up. She slipped her arm around his waist and looked up at him.

"You ok?" she asked.

"I think I figured it out…we should be able to get it back tomorrow it's just, we'll just have to be strategic. Timing. Location, not being seen…but it should be doable."

"What time do we have to start?"

"The earlier the better, I was thinking around 5am…the guards at the cardholder's house change shift around then."

"Then you really need some sleep," she said firmly.

They started walking to the boat and he put an arm around her back, feeling the dampness beneath her shirt, "You're sweating. Are you feeling alright?"

"Uh…yea I…I think I must have had a nightmare? I don't know, I don't remember anything."

He paused, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, I'll sleep better now…not being alone."

XXXXX

Michael's alarm went off at 5am as promised. He turned it off and rolled out of bed, getting dressed while still half asleep.

He came over to Sara's side of the bed and crouched down, "I'll check in later, but we should be back within a couple of hours."

She reached a hand out from under the warm covers and held it to his cheek and said sleepily, "You know, one of these days I'd really like a lazy morning together, or an early night."

"I'd like that too," he said slowly, wanting to make sure he understood her intentions considering they both weren't very awake, "maybe tonight we can make some time for ourselves."

"I like that idea."

He started to walk away but she grabbed his hand, "Hey."

He turned around to face her.

"Hey," she said again, pulling him back, him kneeling again to her level.

"Be safe," she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him in for a kiss and holding him tightly to her. She needed him to be ok.

He put a hand on her cheek and gave her one last kiss, "I will. I love you."

"Love you too."

XXXX

She awoke again hours later, at a much more reasonable time and headed out for some coffee. Bellick has picked up donuts for the group which was a welcome sight; she grabbed a chocolate one, trying not to laugh at the whole "cops and donuts" stereotype manifesting before her eyes.

The only people left hanging around were Bellick and Roland, so she decided to go outside.

The fresh air felt good after being cooped up on the boat all night, and the sun was warm on her skin. The dock provided a good place to sit and watch ships coming and going, the steady hum of their engines calming.

Her hand went up absentmindedly to fiddle with her necklace, thumb and fingers sliding up and down the chain as her mind wandered. She watched as two men boarded a small yacht, laughing and chatting away about the night before, which had apparently consisted of a lot of alcohol and a card game that the larger guy "should have won."

She rolled her eyes with a smile as he went on and on about how "that guy from up north must have cheated."Maybe one day that would be all she'd worry about too.

Their boat left the dock and once again, all she could hear was the lapping of the waves against the dock and the occasional call of a seagull.

Hopefully everything was going well for the gang. She wanted for her and Michael to have that early night in, more than anything. There were a few things she needed to get off her chest.

She understood his guilt; if the roles were reversed she'd feel the same way. But it wasn't his fault and she didn't want them to continue their relationship with that cloud hanging over them. They needed to move forward, to…start over. No guilt. No blame. She wanted him to choose to be with her, not to feel like he had to or that he owed her anything. She could take care of herself, and certainly didn't want him to be with her out of pity.

As if on cue, she heard someone approaching and turned around to see Michael.

"How did it go?" she stood up to meet him.

"We got it back," he said with a nod.

"Oh thank God," she sighed, "and everyone is ok?"

"Yea, everyone's fine, we're all back," he paused a moment, "Listen Sara, about last night...the nightmares...I wanted to offer to talk to you about what happened in panama...but I think I already know what you're going to say."

She glanced up and saw a slight smirk on his face, "how's that?"

"Because you're a little like me...you'll say you're fine, you can handle it, but I'll leave it at this. If you ever want to talk...I'm here."

Her eyes were glued on her shoes. That is what she'd say. That's why she hadn't talked to him or anyone about it yet. She didn't want to make her problems theirs; they all had a lot on their plate as it was.

"Thank you." She said with a nod.

He turned and started to walk away, but she heard herself calling after him, "Michael," he turned to face her again.

She didn't even know where to begin, "You should know that...when I was being held in Panama, the only thing that kept me going was the thought of being with you...but I knew if anything happened to me you'd spend the rest of your life blaming yourself and I can't bear the thought of that. So can we just make a deal that we're even?"

She let out a nervous laugh. This was the most she'd gotten off her chest in weeks.

"If we're going to be together I don't want it to be out of a sense of obligation."

His eyes had never left her face. He paused a moment considering, "Yea-yea start over...uh, does that mean I need to divorce my wife?"

His unexpected humor left a huge smile on her face, "Because you're still married to a Russian stripper." She couldn't help but laugh, having honestly forgotten that detail...whoops.

He feigned being offended, "A. I've been a little busy, and B. I'm pretty sure she was Czech." He smirked, glad they could both laugh about it.

She walked over to him, still chuckling. He wrapped his arms around her, shielding her a bit from the cool breeze coming in off the water. She took a deep breath, and settled into the warmth.

"Yup, I think you should divorce her."

He raised his eyebrows, "And why is that?"

She looked up at him, her chin on his chest and smiled, "Just because."

He laughed, "Just for fun, that's a good reason."

"I think so." She buried her face in his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I will. I need to be able to marry someone else some day." His arms wrapped around her a little tighter.

"That's true, anyone in mind?" She asked playfully.

He kissed the top of her head.

She looked up again and smiled before giving him an innocent peck on the lips.

They both turned their heads at the sound of footsteps and saw Lincoln and Roland approaching.

"Whatever we got, it ain't it" Lincoln said.

"What do you mean?" Michael asked.

Roland answered, "Let's just say...if Scylla was a pizza, all we gots a slice. We need the rest of it."

Michael looked concerned now, "how many pieces are we missing?"

"Don't know," Roland said.

Every time Scylla was mentioned, an image of the mythological Greek monster popped into Sara's head. Though it seemed too obvious to be correct, she had to mention just in case.

"Well, Scylla is a six headed monster that requires the sacrifice of six men..."

Michael saw where she was going with that and pinched the bridge of his nose, "so Scylla isn't one card...it's six."

They weren't done. Not even close. That realization came with the same feeling she used to get in gym class when the teacher said "one more lap" about five times before it actually WAS the last lap.

The finish line kept moving farther and farther away. Their freedom, always out of reach.

Without another word they all turned to go back to the warehouse, there was plenty more work to be done.


	3. Three

Michael burst through the doors into the warehouse. Sara whipped her head up and watched as he walked, aggravated, towards them all.

Bellick didn't waste any time, "Well, what did Self say?"

"We have to get the other cards." Michael replied curtly.

"Hell with that! We did what he asked!" Bellick was as frustrated as the rest of them, but no one else was showing it. Sara looked around at the group; Lincoln stood with his arms crossed, gazing downward at Bellick, Mahone gripped the back of a chair with his head lowered, staring at the table, Sucre sat back in one of the chairs and fiddled with a pen anxiously.

"Then call agent Self and tell him you want to go back to Fox River. We have to get the cards." Michael answered firmly.

It wasn't as if they had a choice. They were all criminals at this point, and Self knew that. Whatever he wanted them to do, they were at his mercy.

Sara felt like she was thrown back into her youth, where instead of Self's demands, it was her father's "My house, my rules" philosophy, which he imposed on her to the extreme. Not only was she expected to do whatever he asked of her, failing to do so would bring shame on their name, tarnishing his political career with her pre-teen antics. She rolled her eyes at the thought. He could be quite a drama queen. Does anyone really care if the daughter of a Governor went to a few parties in high school? She wasn't him, and he wasn't her. She'd never understood how people could judge others based on their family members' choices.

Sara watched as Mahone went over to Michael, leaning in close and asking in a hushed tone, "When the government gets scared they shut things down...has there been any talk about pulling the plug?"

She nervously pulled down on the sleeves of her black sweater and crossed her arms, leaning forward, awaiting Michael's answer.

He narrowed his eyes, "Let's just concentrate on finding Scylla, alright?"

She could feel his frustration. They'd been screwed over so many times and everyone looked to him for all the answers. He didn't have them; but she knew he'd die trying.

Rolland came down the stairs and popped something into his mouth, chewing as he went over to his laptop.

Michael glanced over at him, "How's it coming with the rest of the stuff you found?"

"Printing it off now. When my device was in the house it must have been next to Tuxhorn's cell phone or something. Picked up a lot of data."

Sara was sitting by the printer. She'd been sneaking glances at the documents as they were printed off; emails, his calendar, phone calls, it was all there. Most of it was useless.

She picked up the calendar, figuring if something important was happening, that's where it would be, right?

She noticed immediately that one of the days was blank. Today? Was today the 14th? She pulled her phone from her pocket to confirm the date; the days had all become a blur since they started living in the warehouse. But yes, it was indeed the 14th, the one blank space. Strange.

"Come look at this," she motioned for Michael to come over, Lincoln followed not far behind.

"This is his calendar; today just has a star...but every other day has something on it-meetings, where, when, who..."

Michael leaned forward to get a better look, bracing his right arm on the table and his left on the back of her chair, "Must be some reason he's keeping that a secret."

He lingered close behind her and she could feel the warmth of him, the air surrounding her taking on a blanket-like quality and she felt herself relax; only slightly, but there was a lot to be said for that, given her heightened state of anxiety lately. Being around him tended to do that, which was one of the things she'd always liked about him. Even at Fox River their encounters had left her at ease, trusting him to behave himself, and knowing she was safe around him.

She crossed her left arm over her body and put her hand on top of his. He startled, and she realized he'd been looking the other way, lost in thought, but she still found it odd-she was the jumpy one, not him.

Michael straightened up and turned to the group as Bellick started ranting again, "Why don't we call Self? There's gotta be another way. He can't expect us to do this we already got Scylla-"

"Enough," Michael interrupted sharply and everyone's head snapped up to attention.

"Help out or get out," he was addressing the whole group now.

Sara could hear her heart pounding as everyone fell silent.

"If you open your mouth I expect you to offer up a solution."

Sara felt her eyes grow wider, surprised at the harsh, authoritative quality of his voice. It took a lot for him to lose his cool. A lot. Even when Lincoln was almost executed, he hadn't been visibly angry. He'd looked shocked. Scared. Heartbroken. But not angry. Of course he probably was, as he should be, but he didn't show it.

That made his sudden outburst was even more unsettling. He was obviously more stressed lately than he'd been letting on. When people like Michael, who are always calm even under dire circumstances finally lose it...people listen.

She could feel that jolt of awareness in the room, like a classroom full of chatty students interrupted by the teacher whose patience had finally run out.

Everyone was still staring at Michael, eyes wide. The printer chugging along was the only thing breaking the silence, and she was grateful for it; a simple noise like that can be the most welcome distraction in a room full of tension. Mahone and Lincoln were the only two who didn't seem completely shocked, either that or they were better at hiding it.

In any case, she tore her glance away from the group, looking back down at the stack of papers in front of her to see if anything useful had printed.

Michael walked behind her and over to the table in the corner, pouring himself a cup of coffee as the group dispersed, all trying to find something useful…something to help find their way out of this dizzying maze.

She could see him tensing up; his arms outstretched and straight, bracing himself as he leaned against the table. His head lowered, hanging down between his arms.

She hesitated a moment; Michael certainly didn't win any awards for expressing his feelings, and she didn't want to push it. Maybe he needed to be alone, to think things through- that seemed to be his preferred method of scheming.

_I'll just let him be for a minute._

She tapped her foot nervously. Her eyes skimmed the pages that had printed, but her mind failed to absorb any information from them. Her gaze darted back to Michael, and she found herself pushing her chair back and making her way over to him. She had to try...offer an ear when he obviously needed one, whether he knew it or not.

"Hey," she greeted and he raised his head. She leaned her back against the table and faced him, "I know you had to keep secrets from me at Fox River but you don't anymore...what's going on?"

He had that look in his eyes, not just stress but...masked fear. She'd seen it before at Fox River when she had the locks changed on the door, but in that moment, she'd been too pissed off at him to feel any sympathy.

_"Maintenance is here to change the locks, want me to call them off?" Katie had asked her, now that she'd found her keys that Michael had sneakily returned._

_"No, send them in." She'd retorted coolly, holding a guilty Michael's gaze the entire time. She remembered that feeling of simmering rage, her eyes burning a hole in his; him squirming under that gaze like a bug searing under the harsh light of a magnifying glass._

But today there was more than just fear; his eyes looked tired, and seeing his heartache caused hers to ache as well.

He stood up fully and faced her, "Self said we have until the end of today to get the next card...or we all go back to prison."

Her mind reeled, then went completely blank. Self was expecting them to do something that he himself hadn't been able to accomplish over the course of what-months? Years? In a day. One day.

She put a hand on Michael's arm, "What can I do to help?"

He smiled weakly and spoke quietly, "I uh, I guess just keep looking through whatever Rolland has printing off. There's gotta be something else useful in there."

He said it with a hint of uncertainty. The rest of what printed off could be completely useless and they both knew it, but it was all they had.

She gave him a nod and slid her hand down his arm until it reached his. She gave it a squeeze, wishing she could offer more than this simple act of reassurance, wishing that she could bear an equal burden...that they all could. Everything always seemed to land on his shoulders, and the best she could do was offer support. Thankfully, that seemed to be enough for him. He never complained, and never gave into the "why me?" questions that must have popped into his mind from time to time. She respected him for that, but it didn't make her feel any less guilty.

Footsteps approaching them drew her attention away from Michael. She watched as Lincoln walked over, looking a bit dazed and out of sorts somehow. Sara narrowed her eyebrows as he approached.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Did you guys know about Mahone's kid?"

Michael answered, "Yea, I know he has a son, why?"

Lincoln paused, "He's dead."

"What?!" Sara and Michael replied in unison.

"I overheard him talking to Lang out there…a company agent killed him I guess."

Sara looked up at Michael, "We…we had no idea."

She watched as her train of thought went straight from the normal "that's terrible, how sad" to "Alex used to be an addict". If she were in his shoes, she knew right where her instincts would go-Morphine. Alcohol. Or both. Anything to numb the pain.

She shivered and felt a wave of nausea, remembering what happened…what she did, after she left the door open for them. She blinked hard and did her best to push that notion out of her mind.

"Is he still outside?" she asked Lincoln.

"Yea."

"I'll go talk to him," she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Michael and Lincoln both nodded silently, while looking a bit surprised that she'd volunteered. She didn't know why she felt compelled to. Mahone wasn't a close friend, and they certainly had a confused past between them. Hell, he'd even had her arrested, preventing her from getting on that freighter with Michael and Lincoln.

She contemplated this as she made her way across the warehouse. Maybe it was the doctor in her that made her feel the need to comfort, but it was more likely the addict. She needed to break the ice and let him know they were all aware of what happened, and that he's not alone. She understands. There's a reason AA has group meetings; struggling alone isn't necessary, not for anyone, not even for a man that arrested her.

She opened the door and stepped outside, feeling the cool wind blowing in off the water. Her thin black sweater and blue tank top not providing much protection from the chill. A gust of wind whipped her hair out of her face and kept it flowing behind her as she walked towards the corner of the building.

Mahone was leaning against the building, facing the water. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes were glued on the horizon as he shifted his weight back and forth between his feet.

"Hey," Sara greeted, not wanting to startle him.

He looked over at her and an expression of confusion appeared on his face, as if she was the last person he was expecting to see.

"Hey," he replied with a nod.

His eyes were red, his face a bit flushed with the vein in his forehead threatening to pop out.

A silence fell between them. He looked at her expectedly, wondering why she was out there.

"Look," she began, running a hand through her hair, "I uh, I don't want to intrude…but I know about your son."

He met her eyes and looked surprised, his body language becoming more vulnerable.

"And I'm sorry," she spoke slowly, sincerely, "I just wanted to let you know that we're all here to help…however we can."

He nodded again in a slightly agitated way. His body suddenly becoming jittery, shifting his weight back and forth faster before standing up fully and separating from the building.

"You can all help," he took a shaky breath in, "by helping me find the bastard who…killed…my…kid." He was near tears now.

Her chest tightened and she swallowed. She knew all too well what it was like to have The Company go after someone you loved. Her father was gone because of them and their agenda, a pawn in their game who was no longer useful, and who posed a threat. Mahone's son wasn't even involved; a truly innocent person, disposed of simply to spite him, derail him, and destroy him if he wasn't careful.

She'd spent plenty of time brooding about the injustice of it all, how carelessly they kill; they kill the innocent, the uninvolved, without a shred of remorse and dismiss it as "just following orders" as if that offers any consolation to the people left behind, grieving.

She put a hand on his arm and he looked up to meet her eyes. She could see his pain, bone deep and unrelenting.

"We will. Alex, we will, but you have to do something too."

His face was more flushed, red with anger and grief as he almost laughed, "And what's that?"

She held his gaze and shrugged, "Don't do anything stupid."

Understanding registered in his face. Addict to addict, he understood; he couldn't relapse. He needed to stay sharp to see this through.

She knew about his affinity for tranquilizing drugs, and if there was ever a time that he needed tranquility, it was now. A sense of calm, of everything being ok. But he couldn't. Everything wasn't ok, and they were all here to try and fix that. They all had their reasons, and his was clearer than ever.

He nodded and replied, "I know," and there was once again silence between them.

She watched the sunlight glistening on the water and felt the breeze continuing to play with her hair. She thought about her father. How far would she go for revenge? Mahone would clearly do anything to get his hands on the man responsible for his son's death, but when she asked herself that question her answer intrigued her. How far would she go? Not very; but not because of her difficult relationship with her father.

She'd never really questioned who specifically killed him, whose hands had tied the rope, because she knew that The Company was responsible. The Company, who operated much like the mythical creature Scylla they seemed to worship so much. A six headed monster. To kill something like that, you had to take out the heart, the core. Merely severing one head wouldn't do the job. Killing one man, one "head" of the monster wouldn't take them down, and certainly wouldn't satisfy any need for revenge she may have buried in her core. They had to take them all down. That's why they were here.

She took her gaze off the water and glanced sideways at Alex. His breathing was steady, and his face had faded back to its normal color.

"Hey Alex," her voice startling him as she broke the silence.

"Yea?"

She hesitated, "Do you think it'll all be worth it?"

"Which part?" he asked with good natured sarcasm.

She let out a small laugh, "Uh, I was thinking mostly about the "revenge" part. You want to find the man who took your son, and I get that. But…after you do that, then what?" she asked gently with genuine curiosity.

"Then," he spoke slowly, kicking a stray pebble on the concrete, "then I can call Pam, and tell her that she's safe, and that it's over."

Ah. Pam. That explains part of it.

"Have you talked to her lately?"

"No. Not until I know she's safe."

She nodded, and took once last glance at the glistening water, "Are ready to go back in? Or do you want more time alone?" she asked. It was getting cold standing out there and she knew there were a lot of pages to go over.

He exhaled and said quietly, "I'm ready, and I can still do my job, I swear I can-"

"I know," she said firmly, "none of us doubt that."

XXXXX

Sara and Mahone entered the warehouse and went over to the table where everyone was gathered.

"Hey, there's the lady of the hour," Rolland greeted with a smirk.

Sara shot Michael a confused look, her mouth slightly agape.

"We're gonna need you to sweet-talk a security guard into giving you his badge." Rolland continued with a suggestive eyebrow wriggle.

"Shut up," Lincoln barked.

Michael rolled his eyes and looked at Sara, clarifying the situation, "There's a server in Anaheim where two of Tuxhorn's emails were routed through. We need to get into that building, but we need a security badge to gain access."

She shrugged and crossed her arms, "So, I steal it? How?"

"From what we can tell, the guard at the front desk doesn't wear his badge on him, which means it's probably on his desk. If he turns around for even a second you can snatch it and pass it off behind your back to me."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Get to the server room and use Rolland's computer to get the emails…hopefully there will be something useful."

She nodded, "Alright, when do we do this?"

Everyone looked at Michael.

"Can everyone be ready in ten?"

The group responded with unanimous nods.

"Alright then."

XXXXX

Sara went onto the boat and dug through her bag, thanking herself for thinking to pack at least one professional-looking outfit. Her cover story for the security guard would be that she's there for a job interview, so she needed to look the part.

She grabbed her gray pant suit and shook it out a bit, trying to lessen the few wrinkles that had developed during their travels. One by one, she slipped her legs into the pants and fastened the clasp. She put on a dark pink shirt and shrugged the jacket on, pulling her hair back into a simple ponytail.

She slung her purse over her shoulder, and took a deep breath, looking in the mirror. She couldn't remember the last time she'd dressed like this.

The gray pants were a pair she'd often worn at Fox River; they were broken in and comfortable and that's how she expected them to feel, but they felt disappointing and foreign. Putting them on today made her feel like a fraud. In the mirror was Dr. Tancredi, ready to save lives and tip the scales towards justice, to right the wrongs of her father's administration.

But today her only job was to be Stephanie Reid. A fictional mother of two, applying for a job when her only real job was to steal a security badge.

This realization came with a wave of disappointment, a detachment from her former identity. Could she ever be a doctor again? Her license was long gone, but a small part of her hoped there would be a way…somehow. Her mind flicked back to her conversation with Michael on the train to Chicago.

_"Do you really think you can get it all back?" She'd asked, directing the question to him, but also asking on her own behalf. Did he honestly think they could? That he could be an engineer again, she a doctor…the well-educated couple living on the right side of the tracks, smiling brightly as they passed their neighbors walking down the street. Neighbors who were just as well-off. _

_His reply had been simple, "I choose to have faith…because without that, I have nothing."_

She took in her reflection for another moment before going out to join the group, to play her role; a role that she had to believe could change, but for today she could deal with being Stephanie Reid. Today was what she had to work with; it was all any of them had.

XXXXX

The security guard was a large man with some stubble on his face and kind blue eyes. She approached him, thankful that her "job interview" cover would easily explain the undercurrent of nervousness she was feeling.

Lincoln and Sucre had eyes on her from their parked car, which made her feel a bit more at ease. If anything happened, they'd see.

Michael and Rolland were in the building, ready to slip behind her and grab the card after she snagged it.

The guard gave her an easy smile as she approached, "Hi, can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Stephanie Reid, I'm here for a job interview."

"Ok, let me call HR real quick and see if they're ready for you."

She smiled as she leaned into the desk, "Thank you so much."

Her eyes scanned his work area and quickly found the security badge she needed sitting next to his computer.

He dialed the phone and had a brief conversation before hanging up.

"I'm sorry, doesn't look like they have you on the schedule for today."

"Huh," she feigned confusion, "Uh, it was really hard to get a sitter today…can you see if it's possible for anyone to see me since I'm here?"

"Sure," he smiled and turned around to grab a sheet with phone numbers on it.

She snatched the badge swiftly and held it behind her back, heart racing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael and Rolland approaching.

They walked close behind her and she felt Michael take the badge smoothly from her grip, his hand ever so slightly brushing against her ass in the process. She looked over her right shoulder to watch him walking away, he winked at her. That stinker.

She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling as she waited for the guard to get off the phone.

Michael and Rolland continued down a hallway to her right and she redirected her attention to the guard, who was hanging up the phone once again.

"Sorry, no one is available today. There's nothing more I can do."

"Ok, well, thank you so much for your help, I really appreciate it." She turned on her heels and started to make her way towards Lincoln and Sucre, still trying not to smile at Michael's sneakiness.

She was halfway to the door and started feeling the rush of relief.

"Hey," the guard barked.

"Yea?" she faced him as her relief turned to anxiousness, summoning up the most innocent expression she could.

"Where's my badge sweetheart?" he demanded, "It was here when you got here and now it's gone."

She tried her best to stay calm, hoping it would temper his mounting rage, "Sir, I don't have your badge."

It wasn't a lie, which made it easier to say calmly and with confidence.

She realized that she was directly in between Lincoln's line of sight and the guard, so she shifted slightly to the side, hoping to give Lincoln a clearer view of what was going on. He needed to see that she was in trouble.

"You're coming with me-," he started to say, when the fire alarm went off. Whether that was Michael's doing or a fluke, it was her chance to escape and she didn't hesitate.

She started running towards the door, but the guard caught her by the arm, clutching her bicep and bringing her to a violent halt.

"Let me go," she demanded, staring daggers at him, holding her ground, "I don't have your badge," she enunciated each word clearly.

"Well someone does, and you're going to tell me who."

People hurried past them on either side, evacuating the building as the fire alarm continued to wail.

Her eyes darted to the side just in time to see Lincoln barreling through the crowd, coming up behind the guard and smacking him in the head with the butt end of an ax.

The grip on her arm released as the guard fell to the ground, slumping face-down.

"You ok?" Lincoln asked.

"Yea I'm fine," she said, slightly shocked at the man now lying on the floor, "are Michael and Rolland ok?"

"Don't know," Lincoln replied, "know where they went?"

"To the right," she pointed to the side of the desk that Michael and Rolland had disappeared behind.

Lincoln started running and she followed, down the hallway and up the stairs, hugging the wall as they fought the mob of people flowing down the stairs, fleeing the building.

Now that they were headed in the right direction, Lincoln elaborated as much as he ever did,"They're trapped."

"Trapped?"

"Yea, in the server room. Fire alarm made the door lock or something, we gotta find 'em."

"Ok," was all she could manage. Trapped how? Were they ok?

When they reached the third floor, Lincoln grabbed the metal door handle, clicking it down and flinging the door open. They entered the hallway, eyes darting around to find the server room which happened to be straight across the hall from them.

She could see Michael and Rolland on the floor, inside a room with plenty of windows.

Lincoln barged in front of her, "Stand back," he told her as he used one solid swing of the ax to smash the glass.

"Come on!" Michael ordered, pulling Rolland up from the floor and dragging him towards the now open window.

"You ok?" Sara asked as she put a hand on Michael's back, noticing how deep and labored his breathing was.

"They cut the oxygen from the room; safety measure when the fire alarm is pulled," he replied between pants.

He'd be alright. He was conscious and lucid, that was all she needed to know as the four of them ran out of the server room and headed to the stairwell, Michael and Rolland both still struggling to catch their breath.

She stayed in the back of the group and kept a close eye on them both, but mostly Michael, as they went down the stairs. He was still panting, but after scanning her eyes up and down him multiple times for reassurance, he didn't seem to be hurt other than that.

The sound of their rapid, pounding footsteps echoed in the stairwell until they finally reached the main lobby door again, swinging it open and making their way to the exit.

Sara slowed as she noticed the guard, still face down in the middle of the room as they barged past him, feeling a shred of remorse...the poor guy was just trying to do his job before they came and ruined his day.

Michael, who was only a few steps ahead of her, turned back to make sure she hadn't fallen behind. He looked at the guard and then to her, his eyes full of understanding. Too many people had been hurt in their quest for freedom and suddenly, she felt worse for him than she did the guard. Michael would never willing hurt anyone, and guilt probably took more of a toll than he'd ever admit.

He met her eyes again and reached an arm out, putting his hand on the small of her back and guiding her ahead of him towards the car.

They all piled in quickly. Given the chaos around them that the fire alarm had created, that didn't seem abnormal. She slammed the door shut behind her and scooted in closer to Michael.

"Go!" Michael yelled as Sucre peeled out and they sped towards the warehouse.

It wasn't until they were a safe distance away that she realized something; Michael's hand had touched the small of her back without warning, and she didn't flinch.

XXXX

Sucre parked the car and they all hurried inside the warehouse, the air buzzing with the panic they all felt. Sara followed Michael over to the table, noting that despite the stress they were under, his breathing had evened out and wasn't labored anymore. Rolland was obviously ok as well, considering he wasted no time in bounding up the stairs to retrieve his laptop from his cot on the upper level. She'd have to have a chat with Michael about their entrapment in the server room later, but for now she could hold off on forcing him into a physical exam and relentless questioning.

Mahone, who had been standing by the board with a marker in hand, turned to them, "Did you get anything?"

Michael answered, "I guess we'll find out," as he nodded to Rolland, who was now seated at the table, hands flying across the keyboard. The printer hummed to life and started spitting out some of Tuxhorn's emails they'd recovered.

Sara walked over to it and grabbed the first print off; it was an ad for medication…for erectile dysfunction. This wasn't going to be awkward at all.

"What is it?" Michael asked.

"Uh, it's an advertisement…" she placed the print out on the table for them all to see, figuring pictures were better than words, and saving herself the discomfort of saying it out loud to a room full of men.

Rolland huffed in frustration, "Really?! Really…so glad I almost died for that."

Lincoln rolled his eyes.

Another page started printing and she reluctantly went over to get it, praying it was for something less embarrassing than the previous page.

"It's a flyer for a star gazing club," she realized aloud, looking at the map of constellations that had printed before her.

Michael seemed as confused as she was, "What could they use this for?"

Mahone chimed in, "There's a website you can use, you plug in the star coordinates and it can pinpoint your exact location on Earth using the location of the stars."

He moved over next to Rolland, who scooted out of the way, allowing Mahone access to the laptop.

"How do you know that?" Michael wondered.

"Because my son and my…" he paused to make sure he was entering the coordinates correctly, "my ex and…and I, used to do this. When I was working out in the field somewhere, they could do this and know where I was."

Sara watched his face as he reminisced about his son, seeing the softness in his eyes for only a moment, before they snapped back to attention and focused on the task at hand. It couldn't be easy, talking about him already with the grief being so fresh, but she's glad that he was.

He must have felt her eyes on him, because he looked up and met her gaze, holding it for just a moment before giving the slightest nod. He was going to be ok- he could do this. She wasn't foolish enough to think that he wouldn't seek revenge, that he wouldn't go to the ends of the Earth to hunt down the monster who'd taken his son, but he was a smart agent. He was here, doing this job now, and she knew he'd pull more than his weight.

She walked over behind Mahone and squinted to read the location, "That's over Antarctica…he's not gonna get there by 4pm today from L.A."

"What else we got?" Lincoln asked.

Rolland took over again and started typing. He hit "Enter" several times in a row, with mounting frustration. Nothing was happening on the screen. He tried a few short cuts and key combinations that Sara couldn't discern, but the screen didn't change.

"We're locked out," Rolland said with disbelief, "we're locked out!"

Sara looked up at Michael who was staring straight ahead, mind scrambling. He looked at Mahone and she saw the glance exchanged, the mutual understanding. A second later he addressed the group, "We need to run."

They'd been shut down. The plug had been pulled.

All six of them ran to the SUV, pulling the doors open and scrambling in before speeding out of the warehouse.

It was cramped in the back seat, but Sara twisted around to check behind them, her elbow digging into Michael's side in the process.

"Sorry," she mumbled to him as she saw a black car approaching fast; she couldn't tell who was driving but the passenger seat was occupied by none other than Don Self.

"It's Self."

"What?" Michael asked with disbelief.

"Behind us, I can't see who's driving, but Don's in the car."

Michael twisted sideways in his seat to access his front pocket, pulling out his phone and calling Self. She watched him behind them as he answered it, finding it somewhat amusing despite herself, and being surprised that he actually picked up. Car chases don't usually involve the chase-ee calling the chase-er.

Michael was yelling, but she couldn't hear what Self was saying on the other end. Based on what she could see of his face, he wasn't happy either. And she didn't care. Once again, they'd been cheated and lied to…manipulated, and had nothing to show for it.

Her neck was starting to protest at her uncomfortable position, so she turned around to face forward, Michael still angrily shouting next to her. She looked down and started fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, folding it over itself and then unfolding it again.

Despite the chaos, her mind went quiet, watching her fingers folding and unfolding the fabric. It all felt like a dream, like nothing she did would create a different outcome, and all they could do was keep running.

All that avails is flight. She shuddered as that line haunted her, manifesting before her eyes.

Michael hung up and said firmly to Lincoln, "Lose them."

Lincoln sped up and started weaving in and out of traffic. Her mind struggled to keep up with the route they were taking, the frames taken in by her eyes were filtering through her mind in slow motion. She was glad Lincoln was the one driving, he was good at it apparently, although she knew she shouldn't be surprised.

She started to think they had a chance at making it when a semi-truck popped out in front of them, cutting them off and forcing them to a complete halt. A gasp escaped her as Lincoln slammed on the breaks, sending all of them lurching forward in their seats.

Sucre was already opening the door before the car was even parked, and they all piled out quickly. There was no time to think as they all got out and started running. Sprinting. To where? None of them knew, but they were somehow able to stick together, moving like a herd, acutely aware of where all the members were at any given moment.

They stopped behind an old dumpster to catch their breath and to find their bearings.

"How could you tell them we'd get another card in ONE DAY?!" Mahone screamed in Michael's face.

"I didn't set the terms!" Michael yelled back with just as much ferocity.

Sara bent over and rested her hands on her knees, feeling the burning in her legs as she tried to catch her breath.

Michael and Mahone argued back and forth before Lincoln broke it up, "GUYS! It doesn't matter. We ain't getting anywhere with these on our ankles," he lifted his pant leg to show the ankle monitor.

The look on everyone's face made it clear that she wasn't the only one who'd forgotten about those in their haste to escape.

"Is there any way to block the signal?" she asked.

Michael's eyes went to a large concrete bridge not far away and she could see what he was thinking. He started jogging in that direction and they all followed. It wasn't a long-term solution but at least being under the bridge would conceal their location for the time being.

They all slowed to a walk, and the air under the bridge was noticeably more stale, with no wind to carry away the smell of sweat and dirt. She heard panting and yelling, the shuffle of feet against the gravel, and could feel the sense of agitation in the group. But her concern was only for Michael, who stepped away from her and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained as he squinted his eyes shut. He turned his back and tried to hide it, but she wouldn't be fooled that easily.

She went to his side and placed a hand on his back, "Are you ok?"

He let out an exhale and offered a weak, "Yea."

"Hey, we'll figure this out," she reassured.

"You can't know that."

"Well, we're getting pretty good at pulling off the impossible…hell, I even came back from the dead, right?"

As she was talking his eyes were on a bulletin board in front of them. He stared at it intensely. Her eyes scanned the board; there was a missing dog, an ad for a local band playing at a bar…nothing that stuck out.

"What do you see?" she asked, wondering what her mind dismissed that his hadn't.

He pulled the two printed emails out of his pocket, "They go over each other."

Still confused, she followed as he jogged over to a concrete ledge and grabbed a stray nail from the ground. She watched as he used the nail to scratch off the stars on the map and placed it over the ad email.

Mahone was hovering now too, watching to see what it revealed, four words: New, power, plant, and beach.

Mahone knew immediately, "There's a power plant in Newport Beach, that's your "where"."

Lincoln looked at his watch, "We don't have long until 4pm."

"Then I guess we better go," Michael replied as they all started running again.

What were they even going to do if they made it to the meeting on time? That hadn't really been discussed, she realized as they continued running at a good pace. It's not like they could just show up and join the little chat, taking photos of the card holders for posterity.

After what felt like a good quarter mile, which didn't even put a dent in the distance they had to cover, Sara spoke up, "There's no way we're going to get there without a car."

They all slowed down, knowing she was right. Lincoln looked across the street and saw a taxi nearby. He ran over to it and opened the driver's door, startling the man inside.

"Get out," he demanded, and before the driver could answer, Lincoln's hands were on the collar of his shirt, dragging him out and taking his place as everyone else piled in.

She glanced at the driver, his eyes wide with fear as he scrambled backwards on the ground. Just another person, going about their day and having the fear of God put in them for a reason they'd never know. At least he'd be ok, she told herself as they sped off. He wasn't dead. Considering how much death was going around lately, she considered that a plus.

They arrived at the power plant and got out of the car, running towards the back side of the building where the meeting would be.

Seconds later, Don Self and a flurry of agents pulled up right in front of them, rushing out of their cars with weapons raised. Her instinct was to freeze, they were trapped-the place had fences all over. But Michael and Lincoln took off; an imaginary starting gun sending them both flying, but in opposite directions.

She ran after Michael, sticking together. She glanced back and saw Mahone running off a third way with Sucre. Bellick was already in handcuffs.

Tires screeched a ways behind them and she heard a thud. Michael stopped running too and they both turned back to see Lincoln on the ground, struck by the car and now being handcuffed. They looked at each other, Sara waiting to see his reaction. She cared about Lincoln, but he was Michael's brother, the choice to keep running or to go make sure he was ok was up to Michael.

"Come on," he said, waving his hand as he turned to keep going.

She followed but knew it was no use. There were agents right behind them, and she knew what she had to do.

"Go!" she yelled.

"You sure?"

"Yea-just go," she answered. Michael could still make it to the Scylla meeting at 4pm, it was their only shot…for all of them. He had to make it.

She brought her hands behind her head and calmly turned around to face the two agents. Their guns were raised but she hardly noticed anymore. How many times in the last year had she had a gun pointed at her? Too many to count, it barely phased her anymore.

They handcuffed her and brought her back to where all the vehicles were parked. They were all there, everyone except Michael was in handcuffs, leaning against the company vehicles, waiting as the agents bantered back and forth about what to do with them.

Self shoved Lincoln into the police car.

"Congratulations, the company wins," Lincoln said sarcastically, grimacing at Self once last time before disappearing into the vehicle.

Bellick was next and started begging shamelessly, "Come on man, badge to badge, I can't do more time, I can't go back to Fox River."

Self didn't dignify that with a response, he just put his hand on top of Bellick's head and shoved him into the car with Lincoln.

The agent standing next to Sara spoke up, "What about her?"

Sara knew what was coming, her muscles primed to move towards the car, accepting her fate.

Self paused for a moment, "Let her go."

"What?"

She looked at the agent next to her who nodded, and started undoing her hand cuffs.

What the hell. Why? Why just me? What's the catch…there must be some ulterior motive here.

Maybe they hoped she'd lead them to Michael eventually. They'd follow her every move. She'd be constantly under surveillance, watched from the shadows. They'd find them both, and then it would be over. She and Michael would be sent to different prisons, never able to see each other. She couldn't let that happen.

Rubbing her wrists after the handcuffs were removed, she made her way into the warehouse to grab her belongings. Her footsteps echoed throughout the building, no chatting or keys clicking to create a pleasant hum of background noise. It was eerie. She climbed onto the boat and went inside to grab her purse. Michael's bag was sitting on the boat just inside the door, so she slung it over her shoulder as well and grabbed his wallet from the bedside table. It contained his fake ID…not that it would be useful anymore, but it might be better than nothing.

Her mind was still racing, why the hell had they let her go? Something was off. It felt like the calm before the storm as she observed the quietness aboard the boat, sinking down onto the softness of the bed. Silence. Solitude. The illusion of freedom. Almost as if she could close her eyes and pretend the boat was adrift in the ocean, rocking gently, feeling the warmth of the sun and the stillness of the deep, blue water.

With a long exhale, she reluctantly pushed herself to her feet and exited the boat, climbing down with both of their bags, and trudged across the warehouse like an animal being led to slaughter. Her hand combed through her hair, something it often did when she was nervous, but the habit didn't settle her. She couldn't be free. Something would happen as soon as she left the false safety of the warehouse. They'd arrest her. Her thumb ran over the dark pink indents on her wrist where the handcuffs had recently left their mark. They'd threaten her and Michael again if they couldn't deliver results of some ridiculous task.

Why? Why did they let me go? What's worse than being arrested…are they just going to kill us?

She shook that notion from her head, trying to think of all the possible scenarios that involved her being alive and free _and_ useful to the Company, each one more depressing than the last.

By now, she'd reached the door, but she didn't want to walk out. She closed her eyes. Her hope of finding Michael un-handcuffed and injury free was the only thing that finally made her push open the door.

Blinking in the sunlight, she saw a car pull up behind the other vehicles. It was Michael. The agents looked just as surprised as she was as he stepped out, hands in the air.

Was he surrendering? Something in his right hand glistened in the sun and caught her eye- it was his cell phone, which he handed to Self. She couldn't hear what was being said and hurried to get closer, dropping both bags in the process.

He'd made it-he'd gotten to the Scylla meeting and had a recording of not one, but all six card holders. They had faces, and possibly even names if their conversation could be heard on the poor-quality video. They had something. Self had to let them keep trying…right?

She watched from the concrete ledge she was standing on as Self went over and let Lincoln, Sucre, Bellick and Mahone all out of the car, undoing their cuffs.

_I guess we do have a second chance_, she thought, but she couldn't help but wonder about Self's behavior.

He was the one who approached them in the first place and started this whole thing. All it took was a slight delay for him to drop the whole matter and come after them. It didn't sit right. He must not be as high up as he made out to be, which seemed to be a common theme among law enforcement. Mahone being a prime example. For all the power he'd had, there'd been someone puppet mastering him. Self must be in a similar position, but she wanted to know who the puppet master was. And why.

Michael walked over to her, pulling her out of her contemplation. She smiled down at him as he took her hands in his, "One day, I swear we'll drop that little boat of yours in the water and we'll never look back."

She exhaled a soft laugh, it was as if he'd known about her little daydream on the boat just moments before, "I'd like that."

Her eyes closed as she held his hands tightly and felt their warmth, willing back that sensation of peace, being lulled by the gentle waves. Alone in the warehouse on a land-locked boat, those thoughts had been a cruel torment, born from wishful thinking of dreams that could never be fulfilled. But now, standing with her hands safely wrapped in his, those dreams felt tangible, possible.

She opened her eyes again and saw his clear, blue ones staring up at her. Still standing on the ledge, the top of his head was just about at chest level. She reached out and brought him closer, running her fingers over his buzzed-cut hair, and planted a kiss on top of his head. His arms wrapped around her legs as she cradled his head to her chest, resting her cheek on it. They had another chance.


End file.
